


your love is my drug

by gsparkle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Drug Use, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsparkle/pseuds/gsparkle
Summary: Clint + mind-altering substances = accidental declarations of love.





	your love is my drug

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CloudAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/gifts).



> Just a little set of drabbles from the drabble challenge this weekend on be_compromised! Original prompt was "karaoke" and I expanded from there :)

 

-laughing gas-

 

Natasha has carried Clint out of warzones and safehouses and dates with evil cultists trying to steal his soul, but she’s never had to carry him out of a dentist office.

“Your hair is so _pretty_ ,” he drools into her shoulder as the dental hygienist hands over the lengthy care instructions.

“How long will he be like this?” Natasha asks in mild despair.

“Should wear off in a few hours,” chirps the hygienist, unfazed by Clint burying his nose in Natasha’s hair.

“I _love_ you, Nat,” he announces. “Your hair smells _good_.”

“Shut _up_ , Barton,” she says. “Let’s go home.”

 

-benadryl-

 

“Sitrep?”

“Hawkeye got stung by one of the alien wasps. It’s swelling.”

“Shit.”

“Banner gave him some Benadryl, hope-”

“ _Shit_. I’ll be right there.”

Natasha arrives to chaos. Nobody touches Clint, who’s staggering around like a zombie, mumbling incoherently, various parts of his face swollen and red. “He’s _allergic_ to Benadryl,” she informs Banner, more than a little accusatory. “Where’s his quiver? SHIELD made him a special antidote.” She digs for the emergency syringe, gets Clint, and stabs it into his thigh.

“See, this is why I love you,” he mumbles hazily, then finally collapses when the drugs kick in.

 

-percocet-

 

Natasha turns around, and suddenly Clint’s up on the bar with a loopy grin and a microphone clutched in his good hand. “What,” she says, “Is he doing.”

Thor laughs. “Karaoke,” he says, beaming. “Barton volunteered!”

“The hospital _just_ released him,” she reminds Thor. “He’s high as a fucking kite!”

It’s too late. “Love Shack” comes over the speakers, and Clint points across the bar with an accuracy even Percocet can’t shake. “I love you, Nat!” he yells into the mic before starting to sing (and _dance_ ), and it turns out that even hardened Russian spies can blush after all.

 

-asgardian mead-

 

Someone (a Thor-shaped someone, she suspects) has spiked the punch: there’s a taste of perfection underneath the sweet tang of fruit and sugar, and it fills her veins with gold in the way that Midgardian alcohol never can.

Natasha drinks half a glass; Clint drinks three.

“This tastes like sunshine,” he hiccups on the last glass, then pauses, peers at her. “Am I… _drunk_?”

“Very,” Natasha confirms.

“Okay,” he says, placid, content to curl into her shoulder as they sit on Tony’s balcony. “Hey, Nat?”

“Hmm?”

“You know I love you, right? Like, for real.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

 

-truth spell-

Once he’s out of danger, she’s going to kill him.

“I thought we agreed not to take bullets for each other,” she almost yells, even though the team hovers behind her.

“Yeah, but I love you too much to let you die,” Clint says, matter-of-fact. Stunned silence. Then: “I-I didn’t mean to say that; I mean, I _do_ love you, god, Nat, I’m so in love with you that I can’t even _think_ straight half the time-” He claps a hand over his horrified mouth.

“Loki always loves a good truth spell,” Thor sighs, herding the team from the room.

 

+1+

She gets sent to Astana, and he’s in her apartment when she gets back, _sorry_ written into every line of his face.

“I’m not under the truth spell anymore,” he says, as if she couldn’t tell from the way his mouth pulls tight with words he’s trying not to say.

Natasha drops her bag and sits next to him, hip to hip. “I know,” she tells him.

“Nat, I’m _so sorry_ -”

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s fine. Just-” she looks at her hands for resolve, then back up. “Just tell me again so I can say it back to you.”

 


End file.
